


Nobody Else

by ImogenPortchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Fighting, Lack of Communication, M/M, communication is key
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-22 22:38:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16606736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImogenPortchester/pseuds/ImogenPortchester
Summary: "You're really hard to love, you know that?""Fuck you," he retorts in a near whisper.





	Nobody Else

**Author's Note:**

> Needed to vent a little bit and the best way to do that is with pen and paper. This is the result.

"You are such an asshole."

"Tell me something I don't know!"

Sam shakes his head and looks away from Dean where he fumes across the room.

Dean paces in silence for a few moments then swipes a lamp off the bedside table. It smashes onto the floor, glass shattering everywhere. Sam flinches then catches Dean's eye. "You're really hard to love, you know that?"

Dean's face softens instantly then transforms into something unreadable. "Fuck you," he retorts in a near whisper.

Dean storms out he door and climbs into the Impala. He sits with the door open, one leg on the pavement. He looks at motel window emitting a a warm glow through he windshield. Sam's silhouette stands and bends over, probably picking up the lamp. Dean fiddles with the car keys in his hands.

So what, he slept with the bartender? Sam was sitting right there while Dean flirted with her. Sam patted him on the back and told him not to be back too late.

So what did he do wrong?

~~~~~~~~~~

Sam looks down at the lamp. Glass is everywhere. How could one little light bulb create that many tiny shards? He picks up the base and sets it back in place on the table. He's in his bare feet and tries to avoid stepping on any glass but he gets a sliver right in the ball of his left foot.

"Fuck." He plops back down on the bed and takes his foot over his knee. It's tiny buy it's in there pretty good. He limps over to Dean's duffel where his shave kit is located. He pulls out tweezers and rubbing alcohol, tosses it, unzipped, back into his duffel. He hears things spill out but doesn't bother to look. He manages to hobble into the bathroom without another incident. Sitting on the closed toilet seat he picks out the shard then dabs it with rubbing alcohol. That little spot stings and it feels refreshing. After that he just sits there for a while.

Why had he expected Dean to be any less of a pig than before? Yes, she was pretty and sweet. She flirted with Dean exactly the way he likes: tête-à-tête, fast-paced, all sultry lips and heated eyes. Sam downed his fourth whiskey sour and patted Dean on the back. "Don't be back too late," he spat as he walked toward the door.

They've been fucking for a while. Four years, seven months to be exact. Yes, Sam is keeping track. He and Dean, they're not boyfriends. Hard to be something silly like that after thirty plus years of Hell and all the other marvelous experiences they've shared. And, oh yeah, they're brothers. Can't forget that fucked up little detail.

He's seen the way Dean beats himself up about it. Sam just doesn't operate like that. Sure, it plagued him at first. but they are both grown, consenting, loving men. Who is it hurting? But Dean has always denied himself any joy that might potentially be painful. Sam had thought they were both happy.

Neither of them had make promises to be monogamous, but since neither of them had stepped outside their relationship in at least two years, Sam had thought they were both past it. He was anyway. So yeah, it hurt when Dean made eyes at her over the drink that Sam had ordered for him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dean tries to open the motel door quietly but fails. He's not drunk, just pleasantly tipsy. God, Maria, what a lay. He hadn't had a taste for the ladies in quite a while, not since he and Sam... but she was just too much. Really broke through his walls. Then she just climbed right on top and took what she wanted and that was such a breath of fresh air. Sam is too...quiet? If that's the right word. He never just tells Dean what he wants, he makes him guess. When he guesses wrong Sam never corrects him. Dean can always see it in his eyes afterwards. Happy but not...sated. Not deeply satisfied the way he should be. He just wishes Sam would talk to him, and Dean Winchester doesn't say things like that very often.

"Dean?" Sam stirs in the darkness.

"Shh...go back to sleep." Dean sits on the edge of the empty bed and pulls off his shoes. He looks at Sam's figure in the darkness and decides to climb in next to him. The sheets are so warm and Sam is soft with sleep as Dean slides in next to him and buries his nose between Sam's shoulder blades.

"You stink," Sam utters quietly.

Dean huffs, "Come on Sammy, don't be like this."

Sam reels. "'Don't be like this'? Like what, Dean? Sorry that I don't want you hanging all over me with the stench of pussy on your breath."

Dean gets up and turns the overhead light on. He looks at Sam. "What did I do?"

Sam shakes his head. "I'm not even surprised."

Dean runs a hand through his hair, tugs at it. He tries so hard to keep calm. "How about you just fucking tell me instead of making me guess like usual," he says through gritted teeth.

Sam glares at him. "You are such an asshole."

~~~~~~~~~~

When Dean returns a couple hours later Sam is sitting upright on the bed, watching an infomercial for a magic mop. Dean had gone down to the office after he'd finished stewing in the Impala to get a broom and dust pan before facing Sam again. Sam doesn't look at him as he sets to sweeping up the glass around the room. Shit, there's a lot of it. Just when he thinks he's gotten it all another tiny shard glints across the room.

With the dust pan finally full he begins making his way to the bathroom wastebasket but trips on one of Sam's gigantic boots. The contents spill back onto the floor and Dean falls. He catches himself with a palm in he sea of glass. He cries out and Sam is at his side in an instant.

Sam is tensed for the rage he expects to find but Dean just examines his hand and stands, ignoring Sam's efforts to assess the damage.

"That's what I get for being an asshole."

Sam sighs and starts sweeping anew. Dean picks up the tweezers from where Sam had left them on the bathroom counter and wordlessly picks at his hand.

The alcohol hurts like a bitch but then it's over. He watches Sam's back, his brother hunched over on the floor, sweeping up the mess he's made twice.

"I'm sorry, Sam."

He shakes his head. "I shouldn't have left my shoes there."

"Not...not for that. Well, I mean, yeah for that too. But for..."

Sam stills and turns, waits for Dean to go on.

"I didn't know it would bother you."

"It doesn't.... Yeah it bothers me, I'm not gonna lie. I know we never said we're exclusive or anything, but it's been so long since either of us has slept with another person. I thought maybe I was enough for you."

"Sammy--"

Sam shakes his head and stands, dumps the dust pan into the garbage. Dean grabs his hand with both of his own.

"You're more than enough. We've given up everything for each other. You're always going to be enough for me. We've just never talked about this--"he motions between them "--and I didn't know, okay. I didn't know what you wanted from me, or for us."

"I just want you. All of you. I want you with me, not some bartender in the middle of nowhere." He watches Dean's face for a moment. "I don't want you to fuck anybody else."

"I was drinking and it didn't mean anything--"

"I know," Sam stops him. "We never said we were going to be monogamous. Hell, we never even said we were in a relationship. But I'm saying it now, Dean. I don't want you to be with anybody else and I won't either."

Dean nods and brings Sam's hand to his lips. "Nobody else," he whispers soft against Sam's knuckles.

They stay like that for a while, in silence. Finally Sam pulls away. "Let's get the fuck out of here. I just want to go home."

Dean agrees. He thinks of his room back in the Bunker, how he hasn't slept in it in many months. He knows that when his head hits the pillow in a couple of nights it will be on the one right next to Sam's.

Nobody but Sam.


End file.
